


Sword and Shield

by Laylah



Category: Radiant Historia
Genre: M/M, Partnership
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-06
Updated: 2011-05-06
Packaged: 2017-10-19 01:47:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Selvan shakes his head. "Our enemies send only the best," he says lightly.</p><p> </p><p>[spoilers for the assassination sidequest in SH Ch. 2]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sword and Shield

"After him!" Dias snarls, lunging for the door where their would-be assassin has just fled. Selvan barely has time to apologize to his erstwhile hostage before he follows—but out in the hallway, the man is nowhere to be seen. Dias's stung pride takes him down the stairs and out into the street while Selvan stops to ask if the innkeeper has seen anything. As he expected, the man pleads ignorance—convincingly—and Dias storms back inside a moment later with a creased brow and no captive.

"He's disappeared?" Selvan asks, unnecessarily.

"I should have had him," Dias says. Tightly-reined fury makes his shoulders taut, and brings a faint flush of color to his pale cheeks.

Selvan shakes his head. "Our enemies send only the best," he says lightly. "Come. Our original intent was to spend some time together, was it not?" He is playing up the scandalous implications of their meeting—better scandal than treason—and he's rewarded with an uncomfortable cough from the innkeeper and an exasperated sigh from Dias.

"Indeed," Dias says. His eyes are cool and stormy, challenging. "And you do have a way of soothing my frustrations."

The poor innkeeper nearly chokes, and Selvan bites back a smile. It's a rare treat to have Dias reciprocate his public flirtations. He bows, gesturing for Dias to precede him back up the stairs.

Selvan's poor little hostage has disappeared by the time they return to their room. Dias strides purposefully over to retrieve his knife from where it still stands in the wall as Selvan locks the door behind them. "I can't believe how fast he was," Dias mutters, examining his blade.

"Nor I," Selvan says. "I was worried for you, you know."

Dias's lip curls in wry amusement. "You would rule Granorg quite capably on your own," he says.

"Without you to be my military strength? Not for long," Selvan demurs. He comes closer, and frowns as he catches sight of something he hadn't had time to notice earlier. "You're bleeding."

"It's nothing," Dias says, waving Selvan's hand away. There is a thin line of red along the side of his throat, parallel to his jaw; truly, it can't be severe, in such a vulnerable place, or the blood would already be running freely.

Selvan shakes his head. "You should at least let me treat it in case of poison," he says.

"I don't think our assassin was that sort of man," Dias says. "But if it would please you to play nursemaid, I won't protest."

"It would," Selvan says. He produces a vial of a multi-purpose antidote, proof against the more common poisons an aggressive politician needs to be wary of, and dabs a bit on a handkerchief so he can use it to wash the wound. "I don't care to take chances where you're concerned," he murmurs. "You wouldn't neglect the care of your weapons, would you?"

"Nor thoughtlessly toss aside my armor," Dias says, and Selvan smiles. They complement each other exactly thus: Dias is the sword that cuts down their external foes, and Selvan is the armor that deflects demands from queen and council.

The cut appears clean, only a thin thread of scarlet across the white of Dias's throat; likely the assassin had not yet attempted a strike in earnest. Dias stands quiet for the application of the antidote, though Selvan knows from experience that the stuff stings against an open wound. For such a hardened warrior, these little hurts must be as nothing.

The wound tended, Selvan trails his fingertips lightly down the bare white flesh of Dias's throat; _that_ provokes a reaction, a silent shiver and a hitch in Dias's breath. "Now," Selvan murmurs. "About those frustrations that needed soothing."

Dias smiles in truth, then, and takes Selvan by the hair to pull him close. Their lips meet, soft and warm; the rest of their plans will keep for a little while.


End file.
